


Clearbrook vs. the Strangleweed

by russian_blue



Category: Elfquest
Genre: Backstory, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-25
Updated: 2013-12-25
Packaged: 2018-01-06 01:41:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1100925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/russian_blue/pseuds/russian_blue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some things are not very safe on a hunt.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Clearbrook vs. the Strangleweed

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Elf (Elfwreck)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elfwreck/gifts).



It was her first hunt with the adults. That was what made it so embarrassing.

They went after a bear, and Clearbrook wanted to prove herself, so she planted her spear against the ground and braced herself for the impact. But the bear pulled up short in his charge and swiped at her with one hand, and she went flying sideways through the air.

. . . straight into a patch of strangleweed.

By the time the bear went down, Clearbrook had her body free -- but not her hair. _That_ was caught in a dozen places, the strangleweed grabbing hold of it in place of her arms and legs.

Bearclaw stood over her, laughing at the sight. If he hadn't been her chief, Clearbrook would have kicked him. "We'd better cut it off," he said.

"Don't you dare," Clearbrook said. Chief or no chief, he wasn't coming near her hair with a knife. It had never been cut, not since she was born. Without that silver flood, she wasn't _Clearbrook_.

"It would be easier," Woodhue said. "It'll grow back."

She twisted, trying to hack at the strangleweed with her knife. "I'll get free of this if it takes me all night."

All night, and all day -- but Woodhue took pity on her. Together they slashed through the tough vines, fighting a patient battle against a foe that snatched at every strand as soon as they had freed it. Bit by bit, they got her loose, while Bearclaw stood and composed the epic song of Clearbrook and the Strangleweed. He howled for their victory when it was done.

The entire way back to the holt, she put up with her tribemates' comments. "She should make a snare out of it." "Or a net." "Or strings for every bow in the holt." "Or she could put knives in the ends and learn to fight the humans with her hair." Only Rillfisher said anything useful, which was, "I'll teach you how to braid it."

The elder was as good as her word. Back at the holt, Clearbrook combed the tangles from her hair, then followed Rillfisher's instructions. When she was done, it felt almost as alien as if Bearclaw _had_ cut it off: a solid weight running the length of her spine, rather than a floating mass of strands. When she turned quickly, it swung almost hard enough to be a weapon after all -- if it didn't threaten to hit _her_ on the far side. But it was contained, and Bearclaw nodded when he saw it.

"That's the hair of a hunter," he said.

Clearbrook smiled, and went to practice with her spear.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Once reveals happen, I will reveal why I HAD to write this fic. :-D


End file.
